


Terms and Conditions

by FireEye



Category: Final Fantasy II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 19:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1659533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leila has a run-in with Paul on the job, which raises questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terms and Conditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samuraiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samuraiter/gifts).



> Prompt: _Not everybody believes that Paul is, as he says, the greatest thief in the world. He tells them, in his own words, the amazing true story behind his title._

The line held taut high above the courtyard. Lithe grace and soft-soled shoes carried her safely across the distance, where she crouched in the shadow of the Tower cast by the light of the moons. From the flick of her wrist, the throwing star cut across the gap she had cross, and she swiftly reeled in the wire after her.

No sense in leaving a trail that could alert the Palace Guard to her presence.

Absently rubbing her hands lightly against one another, she watched the regular patrol below. Four guards crisscrossed the courtyard at regular intervals, along with two stationary doormen who remained at their posts

It was the doormen that Leila had come to watch. The patrols, she had mapped up to this double door, while the door guards’ schedule was still a mystery. She would observe them this night and with luck bypass them the next, until she reached the next hurdle, as she had been progressing for the last several nights towards her goal.

Movement caught her eye below, and she almost dismissed it except that there were two figures where there ought to have been one... and the second was eerily familiar as he walked behind the guard before moving into a doorway. All the guard had to do to catch him was look that way as she passed back along her route.

But she didn’t.

In the shadow, Paul caught the edge of his cloak, pulling it close before its dangerous swirl attracted the attention of the guard that passed him by. He kept his eyes on the doors.

Before Leila had counted five heartbeats, one of the guards excused himself and disappeared out of sight, an act almost unheard of. Moments later, the doors opened, and a steward appeared; noting one guard’s absence, he began to chastise the other. Paul was on the move again, this time for the door; he walked straight past them, behind the steward as the guard averted his eyes to the hedge wall that edged the gardens under the tower rather than meet the old man’s gaze.

It was not the strategy of a master thief, it was the stumbling of a naïve fool. His entire approach seemed to consist of happenstance timing and the grace of the Shadow God’s left hand.

And yet Leila’s jaw hung open as he simply walked out with the Dragon King’s Crown tucked under his arm. No bag, no tools, no bloody plan – by all she could fathom, he had simply walked in and taken the thing. The guards simply missed him as he moved.

As she sat puzzling over the matter, Paul paused and seemed to look straight at her, or at least her hiding place under the tower wall. At once, she realized that her position was a liability if the Crown was found missing, and without the Crown itself as a goal there was no reason to even be in the Palace... Not that there was a dearth of treasure, but the risk outweighed the reward when the only one she truly wanted was walking out without her.

Re-securing her line across the courtyard, this time leaving it behind, Leila shadowed Paul’s meandering escape, all the while wondering whether he would get caught. If he could get caught. If he didn’t have some other trick up his sleeve after _whatever the hell that was_ , or didn’t straight up vanish.

But rather than vanish, the thief left the Palace through the front gate, following the East road along the outer wall. Where the wall turned north, Leila leapt off the balustrade and landed expertly in the dirt at his feet.

Only he didn’t seem surprised.

“How the hell did you do that?” she demanded. Smiling, he leaned his weight on one foot, hand on hip, the Crown dangling from his wrist like an oversized bracelet.

“Buy me dinner?”

“What?” Leila laughed, at the request or at the absurdity. Or both. “Did you spend all of your coin bribing the Guard to look the other way?”

That _almost_ made sense, if you knew the right guards.

“I didn’t bribe anyone.” Paul’s teeth reflected the moonslight. “I don’t have the money. Dinner?”

There was a hopeful note in his voice that had Leila flicking her eyes meaningfully low before again meeting his gaze. “I’m sure an arrangement can be made.”

“No arrangements.” With a twist of his wrist, the Crown was in his hand and behind his back, and she grit her teeth. “My hands are tied. Yours aren’t. Have a little compassion for a beggar in need.”

“ _You_ are _hardly_ a beggar. Why not simply cut a few purses while you’re in town? Or Hell, while you were in there? You didn’t seem to have any trouble sneaking around unnoticed.”

Shouts cut through the night, not near enough to discern but angry enough to guess. Paul’s smile flickered at the edges.

“I think maybe we should continue this conversation elsewhere?” He nodded, gripping the Crown tight between both hands. “Unless you enjoy the scenic dungeons – I believe this one has a labyrinth.”

Leila scowled as he began to walk swiftly in the direction of the East Bridge, glancing over his shoulder. She matched his pace, and he broke out into a run.

Latently, she realized should ought to have simply mugged him.

~*~

Although she couldn’t fault Paul’s table manners, impeccable to lordship as they were on the surface, he ate with a quiet lurking desperation, almost the undertone of a man starving. Or perhaps of one that wouldn’t know the likelihood of his next meal, and was making up for inevitable uncertainty.

“Spill it,” she told him.

Paul paused, peering at her over the rim of his ale. Rather than take his sip, he set the clay mug down in front of him and his shoulders hunched under an unseen weight that had came crushing down on him.

“You’re not going to believe me,” he warned at last, studying the contents of the mug with his arms crossed against the table.

“We have both seen Pandemonium itself rise from the depths of Hell,” Leila reminded him, arms likewise folded and at rest across her chest, she leaned back in her chair, bringing it up on two legs. “Try me.”

Paul tapped his fingers along his vambrace, before curling them once again around the base of the mug.

“I once stole from the altar of the wrong supreme being,” he said, twisting it in his hand as he watched the liquid move within. “The next morning, I had a high priest on my doorstep informing me of the... _consequences_ of my transgression.”

“That’s it?” Leila asked, to an unconcerned shrug.

“What would you do if I changed my mind?” With a toss of her head, she encompassed the tavern. “About the bill, I mean.”

Paul’s gaze dropped to his lap, and the mug stopped spinning. “I would have a long night in the kitchens ahead of me.”

One corner of Leila’s mouth curled back over her teeth. “And you call yourself a thief.”

“I am a thief.” Paul said. “I am the _best_ thief you will ever meet under the stars and the moons.” He flicked his fingers. “And _that_ ’s the curse. I can steal it all, but I can’t keep any of it.”

“You’re damn full of yourself is what you are.”

“If I can’t keep what I steal, I may as well take the credit for it.”

Leila’s wry smirk widened with her scoff. “Have you tried ignoring your conscience?”

“It’s not my conscience. Look at what happened to Fynn.”

“Fynn had nothing to do with you.” Raw skepticism caused her voice rise in pitch. “The Emperor-”

Leila let her chair drop and ducked her head as the Palace Guard swept through the room, looking for... _well_. Paul took a nonchalant swig of his ale, the Dragon King’s Crown hidden under the mere crook of his elbow on the table.

A heavy few moments of heckling the tavern’s owner later, the Guard swept out just as quickly, and Leila allowed herself a sigh of relief.

“So you’re broke?” She pressed Paul. “What about the money you inherited from your parents?”

“I got it all mixed together and I couldn’t chance it.” Paul scratched behind his ear, eyeing the ceiling as he considered it. “I suppose I could sell the estate, but it seems like such a waste. It’s been in the family for ten generations.”

“Well if you’re so hard up for gil, I can take that shiny crown off your hands. You know, the one you can’t keep anyway.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I can’t _trade_ what I’ve stolen for it; I can’t _take_ it; you would have to _give_ it to me. Freely.”

Propping her knuckles under her chin, Leila studied him. Whether it was the truth or not, he quite obviously _believed_ what he was saying. “Have you tried holding down an honest job?”

Paul fell back in his chair, hitting the back hard enough for the legs to scrape against the floor.

“I will try anything,” he said, “ _Anything_ but that. That’s just... _wrong_.”

Dropping her arm and drawing her elbows inward, Leila leaned forward against the table, wearing her most charming smile.

“Have you ever considered taking on a partner?”

**Author's Note:**

> I had a slightly different end in mind when I first started, where Leila would inadvertently steal the curse (revealing the whole thing to be a ruse and THIEVERY), but I could not wrangle it so that is a mere interesting footnote to the fic writing process. Nevertheless, I hope you find this incarnation enjoyable. :)


End file.
